


Requiem for the Damned

by ChecktheHolonet



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Minor Violence, Reylo - Freeform, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9733577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChecktheHolonet/pseuds/ChecktheHolonet
Summary: Ben Solo first learns tenderness as a child, in another lifetime, on another world long ago.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LueurdeLaube](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LueurdeLaube/gifts).



> For the lovely @LueurdeLaube, whose fantastic tumblr prompt hijacked my brain and didn't let go for 1800 words. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @checktheholonet

Ben Solo first learns tenderness as a child, in another lifetime, on another world long ago. Watching his teacher with eyes saucer-wide, he accepts a bloggin’s egg into the palm of his hand. It fits neatly within his fingers’ cradle, warm and small and insignificant, soft and smooth to the touch. Through the paper-thin shell, he feels the fragile pulse of life; the tiny beat of a still-forming heart, the fluid slip of consciousness not yet bloomed into awareness’ vibrant light.

 

“Careful,” his teacher cautions him, watching as Ben closes his fingers slowly around the egg. “Be careful. Don’t squeeze too tight. This is your responsibility now. You’ll need to take care of it for a seven-day cycle. It depends on you. Don’t take that for granted.”

 

As the other children snickered, tossing their eggs in the air, rolling them across the floor with jesting threats of violence and off-color jokes, Ben Solo stares down at the little life in his hands.

 

“Hi,” he whispers. “I’ll watch over you.”

 

He takes the egg home that evening, carefully cradled in a pocket of his robes, wrapped in a scrap of fabric he’d torn from its hem. When he walks into the house, Han cocks his head and smirks.

 

“Whatcha got there, kid?” he says, jerking his chin toward his pocket. “Is that…an egg?”

 

Solemn, so solemn, Ben nods. “I’m taking care of it.”

 

“Taking care of it?” Han snorts, “Like, ‘making an omelet’ taking care of it, or what?”

 

Han means no harm, so accustomed to the rapid-fire exchange he favors with his witty wife. Fatherhood poses special challenges with a son so sensitive, and though he tries to be cautious, Han frequently speaks without thinking. Ben’s face falls, the corners of his mouth pulling downward as his eyes begin to fill, to glisten as his mouth trembles and his throat grows tight. He backs away, shaking his head, biting his lips against the twin circles of heat that crest his cheeks.

 

 _He cries so much, Leia,_ he’d heard his father say, _it’s not normal._

 

He will not give his father that satisfaction. He turns and retreats down the hall with rapid, panicked steps, Han’s frantic voice shouting apologies at his back.

 

Inside his room with the door closed, Ben Solo places the egg on his nightstand. He stares at it, a deep crease between his brow, and walks toward the window.

 

A flicker pulses through the force, a tendril of unease curling around his mind. He whirls around, looking at the egg.

 

 _People with the Force sense all living things_ , his uncle had told him. _It’s just the way of the world._

 

Ben cocks his head, watching, as the pulse grows stronger. Trembling. _Anxious?_ He takes a step toward the nightstand. Another. And then, before he can stop himself, the egg is in his hand. The band of anxiety relaxes, a sigh released after a long-held breath.

 

“It’s okay,” Ben whispers. “Don’t be afraid.”

 

**

 

Time moves swiftly for still-growing children, a quick march toward adulthood that cannot be forestalled. Three days into the seven-day cycle, Ben runs onto the playground, his face turned toward the sun’s blinding stare. He does not see the shadow that falls across his eyes until it is too late.

 

“Look at Solo and his kriffing egg,” one of the older boys snickers. He appears suddenly, without warning, stepping out behind a thick tree with roots exposed, rotting branches reaching out like desperate, curving claws.

 

Ben slows, his hand sliding down toward his pocket, fingers curling protectively around the precious cargo inside. He says nothing.

 

“Did you hear me, Solo? Or are you listening to those voices in your head, again?” The boy steps forward as Ben steps back, a deadly dance starting in accelerated time.

 

“I’m…I’m going to go inside, now,” Ben says, lifting his chin, taking slow steps backward as he shuffles toward the door. Though he keeps his voice steady, his hands shake.

 

“I don’t think you are,” the boy replies, voice silky-smooth, sharp as a knife. “Let’s see how that egg of yours is doing, hmmm?”

 

As Ben turns to run, two thick hands close around his upper arms. He feels a knee, thick and bruising, sink into the skin of his back. He cannot help it; he cries out, pain flaring in his spine.

 

The older boy steps toward him, close enough that Ben can smell the foul stench of his breath, humid against his clammy throat. With slow, precise, movements, he withdraws the egg from Ben’s pocket. He brandishes it, just for a moment, before letting it fall from his hands.

 

When it hits the ground, Ben screams.

 

**

 

“Careful, Ren,” Hux says, his upper lip curled with artful disdain as he stares him down on the bridge, “that your personal interests do not interfere with orders from Leader Snoke.”

 

It is sage advice, a simple directive aimed at a singular objective, and yet it rankles Kylo Ren like sand on skin, a shard of glass buried so deep it cannot be extracted without causing more damage. _Personal interests._ As though somehow his devotion to their cause could be compromised. As though his loyalty toward the Leader could be shattered as quickly and profoundly as an egg on the ground. He had followed the rules, eschewed attachment, fashioned a shell so impenetrable around the ragged remains of his heart that nothing save the Leader’s instruction could breach it.

 

Nothing could hurt him now. Nothing.

 

Ren’s fingers curl into fists. They’d have the droid soon enough.

 

**

 

“Careful, Finn, please be careful,” Rey’s voice wobbles and her throat slides shut as she looks out at the endless field of fallen snow. Blood, warm and viscous, clings to her fingers as she presses down on the gaping wound beneath her hand. In the snow, Kylo Ren lies motionless, soot-black robes stained red.

 

“I don’t like this, Rey,” Finn answers. He casts his gaze into the distance where an Order’s shuttle wreckage still smolders. “You know what he did…what he could still do.”

 

In Finn's eyes, Rey can see the shadow of Starkiller, the months of recovery, the painful road toward victory that even now they march. Faithful, always faithful, even when she rejected him in a quiet, resolute voice. Behind her, the bodies of a squadron of stormtroopers lie like scattered toy soldiers, their uniforms disappearing into deep drifts of snow.

 

She feels a tremor in the force, a tendril of unease that spirals into fierce, all-consuming panic.

 

_Rey?..._

 

She inhales, hardly daring to believe.

 

A moment later, Kylo Ren screams. His chest jackknifes off the snow as he catapults into awareness.

 

Finn’s already pressing him down, blaster to his throat, when Rey cries _no_ , throwing her body across Kylo’s chest. Ren groans in agony and she pulls back, horrified, his pain a firebrand along her nerves.

 

“Rey,” Kylo gasps. Iron coats his throat. He’s cold. So cold. Clenching his jaw, he fights back a whimper. Tears, hot and shameful, fill his eyes.

  
_(He cries so much_ , _Leia_ , his father says _, it’s not normal.)_

 

“Shhhhhh, Kylo,” Rey whispers, her voice a balm, her fingers fluttering across his cheeks, his lips, his brow, leaving red streaks across his ashy skin. He’s felt her fear before, back in that room on the _Finalizer_ a thousand lifetimes ago. But not like this. Never like this.

 

“Rey,” the traitor says. He grabs her arm, forcing her eyes to his. “Rey, they’ll send backup any minute. They’re looking for him. For us. We have to go. _Now_.”

 

 _You’re so right_ , Kylo thinks. He’s said it before. _Was it here? The old man. The droid. None of it mattered, not anymore._

 

“Rey,” Finn urges, half dragging her to her feet. She resists him, pulling out of his hold, falling back next to Kylo. “Rey! Please! We can’t stay here!”

 

Kylo tries nodding his head, but it feels heavy now. Unsettled. Wobbly, like an egg on a nightstand. Like the thin thread of consciousness not yet formed. Rey dusts her fingers through his hair. _Soft. So soft. But you can’t be here. Not safe. Careful, Ren, careful…_

 

“Go,” he tries to say, but his words are garbled.

 

“Don’t try to speak, Kylo,” Rey whispers. Her voice shakes. Tears drip down her lovely face, leaving silver-spun traces on her skin. “Please…just…” she trails off, words dissolving into a choked sob.

 

With frigid fingers, he reaches up and touches her lips. Smooth. So smooth. Warm. He wonders, in another life, if she’d ever let him taste them with his own. Would ever allow him close enough to hold. To cherish. To guard and protect and watch over. To touch and to tease and to worship and to provide. To…love.

 

Around his heart, the brittle shell cracks.

 

“Gone,” he croaks. Swallows. Tries again.  “When…m’gone…I’ll…watch over you…” His tongue feels like taffy, thick and unwieldy as he tries to form his words.

 

“No, Kylo,” Rey sobs. So puzzling, that the light could mourn the darkness. That compassion, pure and true, could eclipse hatred. Loathing. Despair. Spilling love through the cracks where darkness once lived. Behind them, the traitor runs toward the ship, screaming into a broken comm for backup. It won’t be long.

 

“Just…us…now…” he slurs. Another wooded field, another snow-dusted night. Long ago. He’d known, even then. Had always known. He's been dying every night since then. He hopes this time, this night, it’ll hurt less.

 

Shivers rock his frame as the pain begins to crest, his teeth rattling so hard he thinks his skull might shatter. Above him, Rey strips off her cloak with frantic motions, wrapping it tight around the gaping cavity in his chest, the moon outlining her hair like a halo. _Beautiful_ , he thinks, _so very lovely._

 

He knows this feeling, has felt it before, has heard its call a thousand times in nights spent drenched in agony. Alone, always alone. Ben Solo, dead and gone; Kylo Ren doomed to haunt his steps. He recognizes it, this light. This love. _Rey._

 

“Love you,” he coughs. Pathetically, unforgivably quiet. Red drops spray from his mouth. “Love you,” he repeats, refusing to give up. To be silenced. He says the words again. Stronger now. A vow. A benediction. An apology.

 

Rey freezes, looks down, white clouds of air puffing from her trembling lips.

 

“What?” she breathes.

 

Kylo’s lips twitch, the ghost of smile from a boy long departed. “I love you, Rey.” Achingly, unfailingly clear.

 

His eyes close. The pain stops.

 

Around him, the world is silent.

 

\--

 

“Careful. Please, be careful…don't try to move yet.”

 

He knows that voice. Has heard it before. Long ago.

 

_(“I love you,” he had said. He told the story to a young boy, once._

_“I know.”)_

 

When he opens his eyes, there is nothing but white. White walls. White ceiling. White, white sheets.

 

 _Where am I?_ he thinks.

 

“Home,” his mother whispers, the fragile voice of someone afraid to believe. It’s been twenty years since he’s seen her face, but her eyes remain the same. Still filled with love. Still guarding against the inevitable blow. Forever brave, she reaches out and touches him gently, drawing a careful hand across his brow. Her scent is just as he remembers it, faintly floral, clean and soft like snow.

 

 _Mama,_ he thinks. His heart cracks open. Hers echoes in his chest.

 

The tears, when they come, are relentless.

 

 _(“He cries so much, Leia,_ ” his father said, “ _it’s not normal_.”

" _I never cared much for normal_ ,” his mother replied. _“I married you.”)_

 


End file.
